Bone-colored telephone poles in the pink lamplight of morning. The chatter of nearby birds and no other sound on the roads or sidewalks. The end of the world or start of a weekend when everyone’s away. No one at the lake save the plop of two ducks dropping off the dock. All those birds calling out to each other across the gray. Like them I am here most days unseen, unheard. As it should be, on the shore. And the first blooms of spring say so much without making a sound.
Categories: inspiration, prose, writing
Love the blues, grays, and silver
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Thanks Kim! Those are Alaska colors, right?!
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Absolutely, though I might add a shade of salmon or alpenglow
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You go, Bob Ross! Ha ha! Love it.
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“No one at the lake save the plop of two ducks dropping off the dock.” I like the way you mixed a visual image with an auditory one. Makes the solitude and silence come to life, it does.
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Thanks bro. Caught me off guard, that plop! Was happy to see a couple ducks, cool that nature thing! Happy Saturday.
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Ah! So good. I could be there with you, Bill 🙂
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Wish you were! Lovely! Happy the holiday is over for you and hope you get to kick your feet up now!
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Don’t want to see a red rose, ever again! All good. Just enjoying the thought of that water :)Thanks for the good wishes Bill
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“first blooms of spring say so much without making a sound”. That they do. But maybe the wind blowing through the trees still downs them out.
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I forget how much I miss the sound of the birds in the morning too, until it becomes kind of unbearable…
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